BRO3886
by Master of Sorrow
Summary: Diana and 47. The events of after Blood Money. 47 contacts Agency again after getting very bored with his present Oriental employer.


**DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A WORK OF FAN-FICTION, NOTHING MORE.**

**RATING: MATURE FOR MOMENTS OF INTIMACY AND VIOLENCE**

**BRO 3886**

MISSION: FLATLINE

**47:** "Eleven forty five."

**Diana:** "I'm sorry that we have to meet like this."

**47: **"It's dangerous to meet in person, you're normally more prudent. What's going on?"

_... she seemed concerned..._

**Diana: **"How's that wound healing?"

**47: **"Fine. Are we done here?"

... _could it be that she cares about me?_

**Diana: **"I'm so glad that you're fully recovered."

_... why did she want to see me in person, was there really trouble at Agency?_

MISSION: A DANCE WITH THE DEVIL

(through cellphone at the carpark)

**Diana:** "It's been pleasant to work with you, you've been a very effective agent. ... I hope the future is kind to you.

_... she spoke the last few words in a hushed tone..._

**I'll never forget those who betrayed me, and those who never failed my trust.**

**47 **(Hitman 2: Silent Assassin)

It was eight months after 47 had faked his funeral and killed all the witnesses present. The first thing he remembered was feeling numb, and smelling the designer poison antidote. In a white suit and gloves he lay there. The weight of his silver ballers on his chest. He was confused for a moment, but realised that Diana had not killed him at his hideout after all. He fought hard the numbness desperately. He heard someone saying that he was about to be incinerated.

"Can't believe we finally got 47..."

He found it difficult to breathe, the air was thick and dense. Everything was hard and stubbornly heavy. He was in a crowded place, even drugged like this he knew that he needed a human shield to raise the chances for survival. He heard the solemn voice of a priest very nearby.

"Oh my god he's alive!"

What happened next was smooth and fast. The sounds of his silver ballers going off, blood blossoming from his victims heads and chests. 47 running after the the reporter and the disfigured wheel chair guy. The handicapped man put up a fight with his gun, but the reporter was easy. Cowering, after banging on the gate that Diana had evidently locked. ("Please! I swear I won't tell anyone!")

After he butchered them, he left his funeral white suit sprayed with blood to get to the airport, and out of the country.

Now eight months after, under his new employer. It was horribly boring, the missions frustratingly without challenge of any sort. No exotic locations either. Now he felt like a common killer.

47 sat in his new hideout cleaning his guns. He looked wistfully at his rifles, that had not been used since. His mind wandered to how exciting and dangerous it was to work for Merces Letifer. He remembered how he got a near fatal bullet wound, after that mission to kill the famous Tenor and Richard Delahunt.

It was someone from the franchise who disguised himself as a Parisian policeman. In the dark and deserted streets, he took a shot in the chest but gave the fake cop something better - a head shot. Later in his hotel room, he was saved by a doctor Diana had sent.

Diana... he thought about the red lipstick mark he saw on his mouth when he looked in the mirror at the airport, after he got off the plane in China. 47 paused as he sat there. Her lips _on_ his? Whatever for? She surely could have administered the antidote with her hands when they had their backs turned...

Usually he would never allowed himself such thoughts. But... he was so bored, and he missed Merces Letifer too much. He strode to his 'phone to call agency.

Maybe it was back online after being liquidated? 47 dailed the country code, and then the number.

"This is Agency, Clera speaking. How may I help you?"

"Clera, put me through to Diana. My registration number is BRO 3886."

"Please hold..."

"Diana speaking."

47's heart beat faster at the familiar sound of his controller's feminine voice, with the British accent."Diana, it's 47."

There was an awkward silence. Diana spoke again, "So glad that you're alright 47. As you can see Agency is back and re-established, we were hoping that you would contact us as we are seriously short of reliable agents -"

"I'm working under another employer in China."

"We could raise the payment for various hits, you're still fabled among our clients ..."

"I wish to meet in person so that we can formulate an agreement." said 47.

"47! It is by Agency regulation that controllers are not to meet with agents needlessly-"

"I am not your agent anymore. I am only your_ potential_ agent. I am now at Shanghai as a guest at the Golden Dragon Hotel. Ask for a Mister Johnson. I will see you in four day's time, in the evening of the fourth day."

"47 I -"

The hitman hung up the 'phone.

On the fourth day's evening it was raining heavily. 47 sat in his hideout, in one of the numerous rooms of the Golden Dragon Hotel's basement. There were other rooms like this for other underground employees like himself, that rich and generous Oriental employer liked to make sure his employees stayed loyal and comfortable. He sat there reading a book, being his usual silent and withdrawn self. He liked this particular hideout, with its lampshades in the dark, and shelves of books.

There was a knocking on the door, he laid the book aside and with hidden anticipation went to answer it. At the door was a Chinese triad, and behind him an elegant woman, dressed in a navy blue blouse and skirt, holding a bird cage. In it chirped a blue budgerijar.

The burly triad said something in Chinese and left when 47 showed his approval. Diana stood there for a moment. Again an awkward silence.

"Get in." Murmured 47.

She stepped through the doorway and held up the birdcage for 47 to see. "I'm sorry about your canary. If you forgive me and accept the budgerijar."

"Thanks, sit."

As Diana sat down, she looked at his new hideout. Simply furnished and neat as usual, but significantly cosier than when he was working for "Blood Money." His guns were hung up and spread out on one entire wall at one side.

She recognised his metallic ballers and W2000 sniper rifle, among other things. On the table, in front of the couch she was sitting on, was his fibre wire. It was bloody at one side.

47 came back with a bottle of whiskey, and two short glasses with ice then he sat down next to Diana. He told her that he was considering coming back to Agency to work, after he had completed his present contract. Due to the fact that the jobs were "lame" and "without point."

"I'm sorry that I had to stab you with the syringe 47, it was the only way out. This meeting is highly unusual, and I cannot help but feel strange about it." said Diana rather suddenly.

Feeling warm from the whiskey, 47 took off his black suit and hung it up behind the tobacco-stained door. "When you stabbed me with the syringe, I was mad. I thought you betrayed me. That's why I yelled at you." said 47 directly. He was not one to beat around the bush and his abnormal upbringing has stolen from him general social graces.

She watched him come back and sit down, his expression not usual. He looked almost sad, and distracted. He turned his head to face her, but his eyes remained focused on something absent and far away. He continued now, " you know I trust you Diana. I was sure that I died. I... I! I was… I was _hurt,_ when I thought that you betrayed my trust and killed me. I let you know where I live! I was-"

Diana maternally hugged 47 to comfort him. He flinched at first from her touch, bringing his thoughts away from the nightmare of experiencing fleeting death back to the present, and stared at her as she sat closer to him, hugging him tighter. The clone slowly relaxed in her embrace, and began to close his eyes as she ran her fingers over the skin of his head.

Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the alcohol but 47 let himself be held by the only person on Earth of whom he trusted, who never failed his trust. Her. What came out of his mouth was so unlike him, "I miss you." He breathed.

It felt different for a woman he was familiar with to embrace him, compared with getting intimate with strange women sometimes during missions to get closer to the target.

"I thought that you betrayed me," moaned the clone, "you hurt me Diana I..."

"Shhh. I will never betray you 47, because I hold feelings for you. You're precious to me, but I can't be close to you because of the rules at Agency. Are you alright? Asked Diana.

"No. I'm not." The solitary killer felt an unknown feeling and great need for something in the vacuum of his soul. With his eyes still closed he felt that he wanted her, he just needed her.

All his life he had never been loved by another human-being at all. Her soft and affectionate strokes contrasted with with the harsh rough hands of the medical staff of Dr. Oortmyer's cloning facility, where he was always beaten into submission to get his injections. He held her closer and smelt her.

"Diana, I'm a killer. I, I'm. Don't you find me evil? I had the feeling that stabbed me because you thought of me as one. At that moment I felt my heart die. I was...!"

She held his face in her hands and said, "Who isn't evil in this world? In this era, who is normal?"

Then, in the warm and dim lighting he began to open his mouth, parting his lips his beating heart, filled with contentment. He looked at her, and tenderly brought his lips to hers. He wanted to be conscious this time when she kissed him.

He could not let go of her, he wanted that kiss to last forever, her arms around him, his head spinning from it all. He did not care if he got burnt.

The pace quickened, as both became increasingly impassioned, hugging became lustful petting and both accepted the sudden passionate moment and situation.

She put her small hands on his shoulders, and from there explored his muscular body. 47 had forgotten all the hate and pain in his sordid life he whispered to her, his arms wrapped around her, her hands squeezing his thighs "... stroke my neck..."

Before long he had carried his controller to his bed. Both stripped of everything except their skin, in the darkness, silence and safety they became one. As their bodies moved in rhythm, he vocalised openly letting out his suppressed longings and frustrations. Thrusting into her, at the height of his passion he gasped "I love you..."

In her, he found his release.

47 turned over, and turned her onto the top of his body, so that he lay beneath her. She kissed his cheek and reached downwards to touch his phallus, noticing that his sexual fluids were clear and transparent. He noticed her puzzlement and murmured, "Oortmyer made us sterile. He didn't want possible renegade clones causing complications by reproducing with normal people."

"What was it like in Oortmyer's care?" She asked, feeling his chest rise and fall as he breathed.

The clone, with his eyes half-closed stroked her soft hair and replied, "Restricted, watched, controlled and disciplined."

He felt so calm, wanting nothing more but her presence, the warmth of her body. That look in her eyes...

In the dark, as the rain continued to pour outside, he saw her crying. "47, our relations cannot last. Agency." She shivered.

He put his hands on her bare waist, "I know." Sad, he reached and pulled the heavy blanket of his bed over them. He was getting very sleepy, but struggled to keep awake. His intuition that never failed him, told him that if he did, she would surely leave.

**The End**


End file.
